then to the cabin. He was indeed sick, and that was the last the others saw of him while the storm lasted.
Soon came a whistling wind and then the rain fell in torrents. The sea was lashed into a white foam and the waves became higher and higher, crashing against the stern of the Mermaid, as she ran before them. At one moment the steam yacht would be on the top of the waves, the next she would sink down and down in the trough of the sea.
"You don't think we'll be wrecked, do you?" asked Sam, as he left his duty as fireman and came to the wheelhouse, where Dick stood, with all the windows down, trying to peer forth through the fury of the elements.
"Not at all, Sam,—but this is something fierce and no mistake."
"Poor Hans is down and out. I heard him rolling on his berth and groaning with distress."
"Well, leave him alone. He'll be sick as long as the storm lasts, most likely, and you'll only make matters worse by looking at him."
With the coming of night the storm appeared to increase. It was pitch-black on every side and Dick did not dare to run the Mermaid at more than quarter speed—just enough to keep her from swinging around broadside to the storm.
